


The Destiny We Have Chosen

by bibliomaniac



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Crack Treated Seriously, Fluff, M/M, is this my legacy, is this my life now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-28 22:05:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13913103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bibliomaniac/pseuds/bibliomaniac
Summary: Lucretia knows she has a destiny, because the blue figure who shows up on her eighteenth birthday tells her so, andkeepstelling her so. It's the sort of thing that sticks with you.So, as it turns out, is Minerva, and so, as it will turn out later down the road, is love.(aka lunerva. standard roles apply: do not @ me)





	The Destiny We Have Chosen

**Author's Note:**

> this is again partially the fault of some folks on tfw and i will stick with that
> 
> admittedly i was the one who presented the initial idea but is anybody really surprised at this point.
> 
> i got way too invested in this lol

Lucretia has known since she was fairly young that she was destined for great things. This has less to do with egotism, or faith, or a cosmic rightness, and everything to do with the blue figure who tells her so. In those exact words. Loudly.

“LUCRETIA,” she tells Lucretia on her eighteenth birthday--exactly at midnight, in fact-- “YOU ARE DESTINED FOR GREAT THINGS.”

Lucretia stares groggily at the place now containing a blue person, then goes back to sleep.

“LUCRETIA,” the whatever-it-is says in the morning when she wakes up, “YOU CANNOT SLEEP ON DESTINY!”

Still too tired to question what’s happening or to school her language, she mumbles, “Fuckin’ watch me,” and goes back to sleep again. It’s a Saturday. She’s allowed. 

Two hours later, when she opens her eyes and sits up in bed, the figure is still there, observing her. “CAN YOU STOP DOING THAT,” it says, still loud and booming and only mildly peeved. 

“What, sleeping?” She wipes the sleep sand from her eyes, suddenly, irrationally wishing she had taken a hallucinogen of some kind the night prior so that she’d have an explanation for this. “No. It’s a biological requirement, I’m told.”

“FASCINATING. THAT SOUNDS TREMENDOUSLY INCONVENIENT.” 

“It can be, but it can also be nice when you need to escape from things.” She fixes the blue thing with a raised eyebrow and adds, “Or blue light constructs that show up in your room without asking permission.”

“YOU HAVE MADE A JOKE! GOOD, GOOD. YOU WILL NEED A SENSE OF HUMOR FOR THE DAYS AHEAD. BECAUSE YOU HAVE A DESTINY, LUCRETIA, AND I AM HERE TO HELP YOU REALIZE IT.” 

Lucretia stares, deadpan, at the creature, then says, “Alternatively, I could sleep some more.”

“PLEASE DO NOT. LUCRETIA. I SEE YOU CLOSING YOUR EYES. LUCRETIA, I HAVE PREPARED A SPEECH AND YOU ARE RUINING IT. LUCRETIA--”

The figure, who Lucretia will later learn is called Minerva, shows up every day for a while. She is loud, brash, and apparently a bit oblivious, and she is interested in Lucretia’s life in a way that Lucretia has to admit is a bit intoxicating (if also completely incomprehensible). 

“LUCRETIA! YOU HAVE WRITTEN A STORY! IS IT ABOUT YOUR DREAMS?”

“No,” Lucretia will say as she keeps her head down and works, “It’s about somebody else’s.” 

“WELL THAT IS JUST SILLY, LUCRETIA. YOUR DREAMS WILL ALWAYS BE FAR MORE INTERESTING THAN THE ONES DREAMED BY THOSE LESS TOUCHED BY DESTINY.”

“Can you not put it that way? Ever again?”

“TOUCHED BY DESTINY? WHY? DESTINY HAS INDEED CARESSED YOUR FACE AND BODY WITH ITS COSMIC HANDS!”

“Oh my god.”

“TOUCHING ASIDE, EVEN DESTINY ASIDE FOR A SMALL MOMENT, I THINK THAT YOUR DREAMS WILL BE MOST INTERESTING BECAUSE THEY ARE YOURS.” Minerva can’t smile, not having a face and all, but Lucretia thinks she might be, if she could. “AND BECAUSE YOU ARE FASCINATING, AND COMPLEX, AND WONDERFUL. I WOULD LIKE TO READ YOUR STORY SOMEDAY.”

Lucretia huffs, suppressing a blush that really has no business being on her face, and keeps writing. “Well, you’ll be here for it, won’t you?”

And Minerva stares at her in that unnerving way of hers and says, “I SUPPOSE I WILL, WON’T I?”

Lucretia has almost managed to convince herself that her destiny lies in ghostwriting for much more famous people forever, despite Minerva’s repeated assurances to the contrary, when she’s approached by someone from the IPRE. She knows them--of course she does, everyone does--but she had never really thought they’d tap _her_ for an interplanar research expedition.

“Why me?” she says bluntly when Davenport takes her out to a park, sitting her down on a bench to explain (and she knows what he’s doing there, too, putting them in neutral territory, instead of keeping her in her house where she has the advantage). “I can write. So can a lot of people. I know some abjuration magic, but I’m not the best in the field or anything. I research arcane history on the side, but--all respect, and I’m not declining, but why me over anybody else? It’s a small expedition. Why take up one spot with someone who is ostensibly there to take notes?”

Davenport peers at her, then says, “Well, the fact that you’re asking those questions is part of it.”

She sighs, leans back on the bench, fixing him with an unimpressed gaze. “That was a nonanswer, and you know that.” 

“Yeah.” He sits quiet a moment longer, then says, “The other people on this expedition--they don’t really make much sense apart, either. Brilliant, all of them, but--two wizard chefs, a fighter, a disenchanted cleric, and an arcane scientist? And then a ghostwriter?” He shrugs. “I’ll be the first to admit it doesn’t make much sense by itself.”

She doesn’t ask him why a second time. That would be redundant. He’ll get to it, she thinks.

“But--all together, I--have an inkling that you guys are going to be great. I don’t know why I feel that, but I do. And there’s something else, too, if I’m being honest.”

“What’s that?”

“I’ve spent my entire life preparing for this. I’ve done-- _everything_ to make this happen. I’ve given everything I have here. It’s my whole life, Lucretia, and--maybe it’s pure ego, but I guess I just don’t want to be forgotten.” 

And she’s silent a moment longer, staring at a point just over Davenport’s shoulder where Minerva stands, observing, and she says, “Yeah, me neither.” She shakes Davenport’s hand, and for--just a moment, just the _tiniest_ moment, she thinks she might be able to see Minerva smile after all. 

Minerva is practically ebullient that night, rhapsodizing about how ‘LUCRETIA HAS FINALLY TAKEN A STEP TOWARDS A RADIANT BEGINNING!’ and how she ‘HAS SO MANY GOOD AND BAD THINGS AHEAD OF HER! BOTH! BUT I WILL BE HERE TO HELP YOU THROUGH THEM!’

“That doesn’t precisely inspire confidence,” Lucretia says, holding a blue shirt in one hand and a white one in the other, gazing at them contemplatively.

“I WILL DO MY UTMOST TO BE MORE CONFIDENCE-INSPIRING IN THE FUTURE!” A slight pause, then, “THE BLUE BRINGS OUT YOUR EYES.”

Lucretia flicks her eyes at Minerva, confused, then gives a small smile. “Didn’t know you were paying attention.”

“I ALWAYS AM, LUCRETIA.” It’s said with a sincerity that Lucretia doesn’t know she’s ever heard from Minerva before. Minerva is always genuine, but rarely serious.

“Mm. Bit creepy,” Lucretia says, and pretends like she isn’t warmed by the thought. She does fold the blue shirt and put it in her travel bag, though. 

“NOT WHEN YOU ARE SHOWERING, DO NOT WORRY. THAT WOULD BE CROSSING A BOUNDARY!”

“That was actually not something I had even considered, but thanks.”

“YOU ARE WELCOME!”

Lucretia continues packing quietly. They’ve known each other long enough that the silence is comfortable. “Hey, Minerva?” she asks, last item of clothing in her hands.

“YES, LUCRETIA?”

“It’s--” Lucretia stares at the dress, thumbs digging into the soft material. “It’s going to be an interplanar expedition.”

“YES.”

“Will you really still be there? Like--if we’re--if I’m going somewhere else.”

Minerva doesn’t often take too much time to consider her words, so Lucretia almost thinks she’s preparing to let her down. Her fingers dig even further into the dress. It’s definitely going to wrinkle. She jumps a bit when Minerva says, “LUCRETIA, OUR CONNECTION GOES BEYOND ANYTHING AS PREPOSTEROUSLY LIMITING AS PHYSICAL SPACE.” Her voice is surprisingly gentle, if still loud. “I WILL BE THERE TO GUIDE YOU UNTIL YOUR DESTINY IS FULFILLED.”

A wave of ice washes over Lucretia. She busies herself by smoothing out the dress again. “And after?”

“I CANNOT SEE THAT FAR.” Another silence, less comfortable this time, as Lucretia stiffly finishes folding the dress, places it in her bag, and cinches the top. “BUT.” 

“But?” Gods, she doesn’t even know why she’s reacting like this. She didn’t even _ask_ for Minerva, and she doesn’t want a destiny. But...she’s _used_ to Minerva now, to being able to talk to her, to her presence, to--the routine of it all, and Lucretia doesn’t deal well with changes in routine, is all. That’s it. Anything further, any twinges in her heart, those are inconsequential.

“IF I AM GIVEN THE OPTION, AFTER EVERYTHING.” She sounds uncharacteristically hesitant. “I KNOW WHAT I WOULD CHOOSE. WHO.” 

Lucretia looks up from her bag, towards Minerva. Minerva doesn’t have much in the way of body language, but if she did, she’d think she was nervous. “And who would that be?” Her voice is soft, barely audible in the stillness of her room.

“YOU, OF COURSE,” and it’s said with such certainty that Lucretia can’t help but believe her.

 

* * *

 

They leave on the Starblaster, and the Hunger comes, and their world is destroyed, and they are ripped apart and put together again, and Lucretia thinks dazedly that she’s not entirely certain there weren’t some pieces left out when it happened. 

She leans on Minerva more than ever, that first cycle. She doesn’t know the crew well enough yet entirely to trust them, to feel comfortable telling them how lost she feels now that she’s been set adrift in space. She will, and she will become closer to them than she ever thought possible, and she will love them dearly, but for that first cycle, it’s Minerva who she talks to late at night. Minerva has never been one to talk much about her circumstances, and it’s actually legitimately startling when she reveals, entirely accidentally, that she’s a real person behind the blue.

“MY WORLD IS NOT GONE,” she says, not touching Lucretia, like Lucretia sort of wishes she could, but standing closer than usual. “BUT IT IS FADING.” She sounds distant, and it takes a moment through the heartache to register what she just said.

“Your _world?”_  

Her largely nonexistent body language registers surprise. “OH, SHIT.”

“No, no, hang _on._ You’re--you _exist_ somewhere?”

“I EXIST--HERE--”

“You don’t get to do that,” Lucretia accuses, sitting up straight against her headboard and frowning. “You don’t get to drop something like that and then pretend you didn’t say it.”

“WOULD YOU LET THIS GO IF I TOLD YOU I AM NOT SUPPOSED TO TALK ABOUT IT?”

“Do you even _know_ me?” 

“YES. IT WAS A SILLY HOPE, I’LL ADMIT. BASICALLY, WHAT YOU ARE SEEING IS AN IMPRECISE PROJECTION OF MY PHYSICAL FORM.” 

“So you’re _not_ a blue extraplanar force.”

A very suspicious silence, then, “I’M NOT BLUE.” 

Minerva’s outline looks decidedly uncomfortable, and she _did_ say she wasn’t supposed to talk about it, so Lucretia decides to let the incomplete denial pass for now. “What do you look like then?”

“UH. TALL?”

That surprises a laugh out of Lucretia, her feelings about her lost world pushed to the back of her mind as she draws her knees up to her chin and grins at Minerva. “Really? ‘Tall’ is the best you can come up with?”

“YOU CAUGHT ME SOMEWHAT BY SURPRISE WITH THAT QUESTION, IN MY DEFENSE. AND ALSO IT IS TRUE. OUR MEASUREMENT SYSTEMS ARE NOT EQUIVALENT, BUT I AM TALLER THAN YOU BY A REASONABLE AMOUNT, AS BEST AS I CAN JUDGE.”

“Hot damn,” Lucretia says, still sounding a bit amused. “Pick me up and take me away, you towering goddess, you.”

Another very suspicious and even longer silence. “THAT WOULD UNFORTUNATELY BE DIFFICULT FROM A PURELY LOGISTICAL STANDPOINT, AT THE MOMENT.”

“Mm. We can table it.” Lucretia sighs, stretching her arms above her head, then gets under her covers. “What else? I want to know what I should imagine behind all that blue.” 

“I HAVE RED HAIR. UH, DARK RED. AUBURN.”

“Go on.” Lucretia nestles into her pillow, yawning.

“WELL, I DID. DO, NATURALLY. BUT I SHAVED IT, A WHILE BACK. IT WAS--REQUIRED.” 

“Hm. Okay.” Lucretia is starting to feel really tired. Minerva’s voice is nice.

“AND I HAVE, UH--MARKINGS? ON MOST OF MY BODY. TATTOOS, I SUPPOSE YOU WOULD CALL THEM. THEY’RE FOR MANY THINGS IN MY CULTURE. COMING OF AGE, MAJOR ACHIEVEMENTS. THINGS OF THAT SORT.” Minerva stops short as she realizes that Lucretia is asleep.

One of the many limitations of her form in this plane is that she cannot brush the strand of hair that falls across Lucretia’s face behind her ear, that she cannot pull the covers that much further up over Lucretia’s shoulder. But she can observe, just for a moment, the peaceful rise and fall of Lucretia’s chest, and the serenity of her face when at rest, and then she can--and will--cut the connection and leave the pad that allows her to see Lucretia, her charge, her future, her heart’s beat. 

And then she opens the window, the one thing she has left remaining of the outside world, and looks at the sun. It shines still, but she wonders if she’s imagining that it has grown dimmer already.

It does not matter, she supposes. She has time, and a purpose, and hope. And--she does not have Lucretia. She cannot have Lucretia. But she does have the memory of how Lucretia smiled a bit in her sleep when Minerva passed a spectral hand over her cheek, and that’s plenty.

 

* * *

 

The downside of having a photographic memory is that Lucretia, now, can still remember with perfect clarity how it felt to never be alone, and can therefore contrast it with equally perfect accuracy to how it feels now that she is _always_ alone.

She spends a lot of time going over everything that happened that century, the events on an endless loop in her brain as she wonders if there’s anything she could have done differently. If she had spent more time researching what was ahead and less writing down the past, if she had worked harder on her magic...if she had listened to Minerva more.

Minerva.

Memories come to her disjointed whenever she thinks of her, which is often.

It is the sixth cycle when Lucretia cuts her hair. Minerva goes silent for at least a full minute when she appears for their daily evening conversation, goes so still that Lucretia worries their connection is having problems. It is with a voice thick with emotion that Minerva finally says, “YOUR BEAUTY IS UNPARALLELED ACROSS ALL REALITIES.”

Lucretia had laughed, startled and self-conscious. Running a hand through her newly-short hair, she had said, “That’s definitely an exaggeration.”

“IT IS MOST CERTAINLY NOT, LUCRETIA.”

It was not the last time Minerva called her beautiful. The last time Minerva called her beautiful was the day she stopped appearing at all. She wonders sometimes what Minerva would think about her appearance now.

It is the forty-seventh cycle, at the Legato Conservatory, that Lucretia spends most of her time indoors working on her painting, and with the freedom to talk without risk of her friends overhearing and thinking she’s crazy (or giving away the existence of Minerva, which Minerva has made it clear should not happen), Minerva stays for long stretches of time, and they just talk. Minerva is still somewhat cagey about her world--by necessity, not by choice, she says--but Lucretia still learns a lot about _her._ She likes heavily-spiced tea, for example, and the rain, though her plane doesn’t get much of it. She dislikes bland food and dishonesty, and gets uncomfortable around small animals. She sings, but never in front of anyone else. Her society considers it a frivolity.

(She only sings for Lucretia once, but it is a memory Lucretia will always treasure.)

She is kind, and brash, and sweet, and a little bit oblivious sometimes, and she has a strength to her that Lucretia envies and thinks she somehow still only managed to touch the surface of despite all their time together. And she’s _there,_ always, ready when Lucretia comes into a closed room with a booming, happy, “LUCRETIA! YOU HAVE RETURNED!”, and Lucretia would be very much lying if she said she didn’t care.

A _lot_.

Minerva grows silent one day as Lucretia keeps up a running commentary on how she’s so full of oil paint fumes now she’s starting to hear colors, and Lucretia looks up at her and smiles bemusedly. “Are you tired? You can sleep, I don’t mind. We can talk tomorrow.”

“LUCRETIA,” Minerva says, hesitates. “YOU HAVE...FRIENDS.”

“Don’t act so surprised,” Lucretia jokes, going back to staring at her painting and frowning, absentmindedly wiping a paint-streaked hand on her nose.

“NO, I MEAN...YOU HAVE PEOPLE WHO ARE...HERE. THEY CAN…” Lucretia could swear, for a moment, that Minerva shifts uncomfortably. “THEY COULD GET A CLEAN CLOTH FOR YOU, FOR EXAMPLE, AND WIPE OFF THAT PAINT FROM YOUR NOSE.”

“Oh, did I get some on there? Shit.”

“LUCRETIA. THAT IS NOT MY POINT. THEY COULD--” She’s definitely shuffling around a bit. “THEY COULD PUT AN ARM AROUND YOU WHEN YOU’RE SAD, OR PULL THE COVERS UP OVER YOU WHEN YOU FALL ASLEEP ON ACCIDENT.”

“Okay?” Lucretia swivels around on her stool, gazing at Minerva confusedly. “Yeah, they could do all of that if they wanted. Have, before, sometimes. What does that have to do with anything?”

“WHY ARE YOU HERE WITH ME INSTEAD OF WITH THEM?” Minerva’s voice is even, but Lucretia knows her tells well enough by now (arm behind her back, fist clenched by her side) to know that she’s nervous about something. She probably is regretting asking. 

Normally Lucretia would say something about Barry and Lup doing their whole thing together, and Taako and Merle having classes, and Magnus and Dav off prepping their own materials for the ceremony. But she knows that’s not the right response, here, knows she has to be honest even before she knows what the truth is. So she gets off the stool, walks to Minerva, and says quietly, “Because I choose you.” 

“OH,” Minerva says, a bit breathless, and Lucretia knows they’re both thinking about that conversation all those years ago. At the end of it all, Minerva said she knew what she would choose if she were given the option.

Lucretia knows, now, too.

It is cycle sixty-five, and Lucretia does not talk much. Minerva comes by as often as ever-- “LUCRETIA, PLEASE, TAKE A MOMENT’S REST, YOU’RE HURTING YOURSELF”--but Lucretia doesn’t respond. Once, when Minerva is standing in front of a tool that she needs, Lucretia reaches right through her.

Minerva gasps, a sharp little thing, hurt. Lucretia digs her nails into the palm of her hand, bile rising in the back of her throat, _can’t do anything right, can’t keep anyone, can you,_ before saying the only words she will say to Minerva that cycle. 

“You should leave.”

She doesn’t--she still comes by every evening, though she doesn’t keep a running conversation. She just stares at Lucretia, and her posture reads defeat. It is only when Lucretia falls into a short and restless sleep for the night that Minerva goes to the desk from the corner where she has sequestered herself, out of the way of anything Lucretia might need, and reaches out a hand that cannot touch to run in a facsimile of a caress across her forehead.

(Lucretia doesn’t smile this time.)

It is cycle sixty-six, the next year, the first day, and Lucretia cries bitterly in her room as she apologizes to Minerva, who is in the room, and everybody else on the ship, who are not. The apologies barely have form anymore, just sobs and something resembling ‘sorry’, but Minerva tells her it’s okay anyway, stands as close as she can and wishes desperately she could _be_ there so that Lucretia’s tears could fall on her shoulder instead of Lucretia’s hands. She can’t, though, no matter how much she wants.

It is cycle eighty-two, and Lucretia learns Shield of Faith, and she learns what it is like to be able to protect her friends. She learns that it is intoxicating, that _control_ over a situation, to feel like you can _do_ something for once.

She formulates the beginnings of an idea.

And Minerva can see it, too. She sees Lucretia doggedly practicing the spell with a single-minded dedication she hadn’t quite seen since sixty-five, and fear pierces her heart. “LUCRETIA,” she says one day, not for the first and not for the last time. That will come later. “LUCRETIA, I KNOW YOU ARE PLANNING SOMETHING, AND I KNOW YOU ARE HURTING YOURSELF DOING IT.”

“You’ve already said you can’t see the future,” Lucretia says, eyebrows knit in concentration as she reads an abjuration book, flipping the pages with one hand and conjuring a small, shimmering shield with the other. “And I know you can’t read my mind.”

“I CAN’T,” Minerva acknowledges, “I JUST KNOW YOU.”

Lucretia looks up, and the shield falters for a second. “Yeah, you do,” she says slowly, with something that’s not quite a smile. She looks back down, and the shield comes back up. “So you know that I’m not going to back down.”

“YES,” Minerva says, and the fear changes to resignation, settling deep in the pit of her stomach. “THAT BOOK IS LARGELY INCORRECT, BY THE WAY. OR NOT INCORRECT, JUST--MISINFORMED.”

Lucretia looks back up, and Minerva knows that she is making a mistake, but having her eyes back on her makes it seem almost like it is worth it. “How do you know that?”

“PEOPLE ON MY WORLD ARE ALL EDUCATED ON ABJURATION FROM A YOUNG AGE. IT IS--IMPORTANT.” She’s hesitating in the same way she always does when she talks about her world, but Lucretia can’t think about that right now. She turns fully towards Minerva, shutting the book. 

“Tell me everything.”

(At the end of the year, they learn that Lup and Barry have become liches, and Lucretia thinks helplessly that she really can’t save anyone after all. Or--not them. 

But maybe other people, still.) 

It is the ninety-second cycle. 

Lucretia cannot let this happen.

It is cycle ninety-nine.

It happens anyway. But she can _fix_ it.

She can save all of them.

She begins preparations in secret. Minerva knows, though, because she is there, and she says, desperate, “LUCRETIA, YOU CANNOT DO THIS. YOU CANNOT UNDERSTAND, THIS IS NOT YOUR DESTINY--”

“I don’t care about destiny,” Lucretia snaps, not looking at Minerva. “I never have. Maybe you do, but--I don’t know. Maybe I don’t have a destiny. Maybe I just have this.” 

And Minerva says, smaller than normal, “AND ME.” 

Lucretia huffs, looking over a map and smoothing out a crease that probably isn’t there. “What do you mean, and you?” 

“YOU HAVE ME ALSO.”

“I--well, yeah,” Lucretia says, suddenly more embarrassed than she probably has a right to be. “You’re always here.”

“I--” Minerva does something she’s never done before: she turns away. “IF I WEREN’T.” 

“What?”

“IF I WEREN’T HERE. WOULD YOU--MISS ME?” She immediately visibly shakes her head. “NO. THAT’S A BAD QUESTION. WOULD YOU BE ALL RIGHT?”

Lucretia frowns down at the map, less because she’s still distracted and more because she’s afraid of what she’ll do if she looks at Minerva. “I--of course I would miss you. You’re--” She clears her throat. “I would miss you.”

“I WOULD ALSO.” 

“Why are you bringing this up?” Lucretia asks, hoping her voice isn’t shaking like she knows her hands are. “Are you leaving?” 

“NOT BY CHOICE,” Minerva says in that careful way of hers, in that way that means she’s holding something back. 

“But maybe still leaving,” Lucretia says, voice completely flat as she finally looks at Minerva. She’s turned back around again, but her arms are wrapped around herself. For someone so large, she looks very small right now.

“THERE ARE SOME THINGS I HAVE NOT TOLD YOU,” Minerva says, and she sounds as uneven as Lucretia is feeling. 

“No _fucking kidding,_ ” Lucretia hisses, suddenly irrationally angry.

Minerva winces. “NO, I MEAN--” 

“You _never_ tell me what’s going on! Every detail I know about your life I’ve had to tease out of you. Everything I know about you is--I don’t even know if it’s real! You know _everything_ about me. I’ve--given a lot to you, and--and you just--” She’s horrified to realize that she’s crying, more angry tears than anything, but she knows how it must come across.

“MY WORLD IS DYING,” Minerva blurts out, taking a step back like she regrets it immediately, but not stopping. “IT HAS BEEN FOR THE PAST TWENTY-THREE HOURS OR FOR OVER FIVE HUNDRED YEARS, DEPENDING ON HOW YOU COUNT IT.”

Lucretia stares openly at Minerva now, tears starting to slow and pinch her skin as they dry. 

Minerva keeps going. “THERE’S--A SHIELD OVER OUR PLANE. WE ALL GENERATE IT IN TIMES OF EMERGENCY AND IT KEEPS EVERYTHING SLOWED DOWN INSIDE WHILE THEY RESEARCH HOW TO SAVE US, BUT IT’S KILLING US. I DON’T KNOW HOW MANY MORE OF US THERE ARE LEFT, BUT THE SHIELD IS GETTING WEAKER, SO IT CAN’T BE MANY.” Her body language screams discomfort as she falls silent. 

Lucretia opens her mouth, closes it again while she considers. Finally, she says, voice cracking, “Where are you? Maybe I can--” 

“NO, LUCRETIA.”

“Why? I could find you, I could--I could--” 

“WE ARE MANY STEPS REMOVED. SPACE.” A hollow laugh. “TIME, BY QUITE A BIT. YOU CANNOT FIND ME, AND YOU CANNOT SAVE ME.”

“Don’t say that,” Lucretia whispers, heart starting to freeze in her chest. “Don’t--don’t say that, please.” 

“IT IS TRUE.” She pauses only a moment. “IN MY CULTURE, EVERY HUNDRED YEARS, SOMEONE IS SELECTED. THERE’S A RITUAL. YOU SHAVE YOUR HAIR, YOU PAINT YOUR HEAD, AND--YOU CAST YOURSELF OUT INTO TIME. AND YOU ARE ALLOWED TO SPEAK WITH SOMEONE, SOMEONE WITH WHOM YOU HAVE AN INEXPLICABLE BOND.”

Lucretia is starting to sniffle again, and she hates herself for it. “Me?” she says, and it comes out weak, and she hates herself even more. 

“IT HAS ALWAYS BEEN YOU, LUCRETIA,” Minerva says matter-of-factly, and Lucretia hates herself most for how that makes her heart swell in her chest. “I WORKED SO HARD TO BE STRONG ENOUGH TO FIND YOU, AND--IT WAS WORTH EVERYTHING. YOU ARE WORTH EVERYTHING. YOU’RE BEAUTIFUL, AND SMART, AND KIND, AND--” 

“I--you can’t do this now,” Lucretia says, face crumpling. “Not now. Not when it sounds like a goodbye.”

“IT MIGHT BE,” Minerva says, disturbingly placid. “THERE ARE NOISES OUTSIDE. I HAVEN’T HEARD NOISES FOR A LONG TIME. I THINK THEY MIGHT BE HERE.”

“Who is they? Who--Minerva, fuck, let me at least _try_ to help. Just tell me, are you--forward or back? I--” 

“BACK. VERY, VERY BACK.” The outline of Minerva’s shoulder raises in a half-shrug. “AND WHO THEY ARE IS UNIMPORTANT. THERE ARE THINGS OUT THERE WORSE EVEN THAN THE HUNGER, AND I CAN ONLY BE GLAD KNOWING THAT IN YOUR FUTURE, WE HAVE STOPPED THEM.”

“Back,” Lucretia repeats dazedly, not able to hold on to everything Minerva is saying. “I-- _Minerva,_ you’ve always told me I had a destiny. If you’re--if--how do you _know_ that? You--”

“I HAVE ALWAYS HAD FAITH IN YOU,” Minerva says, like it’s simple and true and not the sweetest thing Lucretia has ever heard. “YOU HAVE ALWAYS HAD THE ABILITY TO CREATE YOUR DESTINY INSIDE YOU. I--CAN ONLY HOPE I PLAYED AT LEAST A SMALL PART IN HELPING YOU REALIZE THAT.”

The blue grows lighter, the outline unstable, as sounds that sound like screaming trickle through the connection between them. Lucretia steps forward reflexively. “Wait,” she says urgently, hand reaching out to keep her there, then dropping as she realizes the futility of the gesture. “Minerva. I--surely you know I can’t have a destiny without you. I _need_ you, you’re--you’re--” 

And Lucretia still can’t see Minerva smile, but she can _feel_ it in every line, in the final, brilliant pulse of blue. “LUCRETIA, YOU HAVE NEVER NEEDED ME, BUT I LOVE YOU ALL THE MORE FOR SAYING IT ANYWAY.”

It takes a moment to register that she is gone, and another few days to register that she is not coming back. 

It is cycle ninety-nine, and Lucretia cries, and then she feeds her friends’ lives to the ether, and then she is alone.

And it is cycle ninety-nine, many years later, and she is still alone, despite having Taako and Merle and Magnus nearby. It’s not the same. She doesn’t really _have_ them. All she has is a lot of memories and a lot of shitty best-laid plans and a lot of time to think, and a destiny that she thinks will probably just end up with her being alone some more.

 _But with them safe,_ she tells herself, and tries to believe it.

 

* * *

 

It is cycle ninety-nine, and the Hunger is defeated. They are in a train in a somewhere, and Jeffandrew praises Lucretia’s shield, and all she can do is smile wanly and think, _but it wasn’t enough to save us years of heartache, and miles of talent and I still couldn’t see what was right in front of me._

She smiles and thinks of Minerva, who taught her about how to improve her shields and yet couldn’t save herself, in the end.

And as she does so, as she thinks that, even as her family (or maybe not still) winks out around her, Jeffandrew says, surprised, “ _Oh.”_

“What?”

“It’s _you_.”

“What do you mean?”

“Minerva’s girl. Holy fuck. Why didn’t she say anything? I mean, well, conflict of interest, but--wow. She talks about you a _lot_. When she’s in the mood, anyway.”

Lucretia blinks at the nothingness, hope swelling even as caution fights it down, and says softly, “Present tense?”

“Did you think she was dead all this time? No, she’s--fuck, sorry, I’m going to need to talk with her about this. Hang on.” 

There’s a short silence, then, “Okay. Well, I’m _really_ not supposed to do this, but--sort of a special case, yeah?”

Everything whites out, and she wakes up on the ground.

And, crouching down next to her with a bashful look on her face, is someone who she both does not recognize and knows better than anyone.

“Minerva,” Lucretia breathes, not really a question, as Minerva takes her hand and helps her stand up. They stare at each other, not saying anything, until Lucretia says, “Holy shit, you really are tall.”

Minerva laughs, and Lucretia can _see_ it on her _face,_ not just in her shoulders bobbing and relaxed posture. “That’s the first thing you say to me?”

“You’re not yelling,” Lucretia says, still wide-eyed, but a hysterical smile starting to curve at the corners of her lips. “Holy _shit.”_

“It turns out volume gets--amplified across space and time? Sometimes?” She’s grinning now, too. Her hair, which Lucretia supposes she has now, is braided intricately on her head, and her eyes are wrinkled at the edges, and she has the remnants of worry lines on her forehead, and she is the most beautiful thing Lucretia has ever seen. Her fingers itch with the need to reach out and touch, even though their hands are still linked between them. It doesn’t seem like enough somehow.

“Minerva,” Lucretia says again, because she can now once more, and, “So, uh...fuck you.”

Minerva winces, and Lucretia is almost so caught up in seeing it on her face that she forgets to assuage the pain. “You left me alone for years.”

“I mean, I had to, but...yes.” 

“You let me think you were dead.”

She’s squirming uncomfortably now. _Gods,_ her face is so expressive. Lucretia can’t look away. “Again, I sort of had to. But yes.” 

“You didn’t tell me you were God.”

“I’m--not at all--Lucretia.”

“You left right after telling me you loved me for the first time.” 

“There were kind of--” She huffs, but she nods. “Yes.”

“You didn’t let me tell you I loved you back.”

Minerva doesn’t say anything this time, but her eyes are wide now too, and Lucretia almost thinks she can see the same hope that she must have in hers.

And she fights back everything telling her she’s wrong about this, and she steps close and closer still, and she murmurs, “And worst of all, you’ve been back and here for like, two minutes now, and you still haven’t kissed me.”

“It sounds very rude when you put it like that,” Minerva says quietly, eyes already on Lucretia’s mouth, and then she leans forward to close the distance between them, and for a moment or two it feels almost like there never was any distance there in the first place.

(Later, she will introduce Minerva to everyone else, after there has been a lot of time for mending all around. And Magnus will say, “Oh, I just thought you had an imaginary friend,” and Lup will say, “I thought she was your imaginary sex friend,” and Lucretia will sputter and Minerva will chuckle high-pitched and nervous as her hand tightens around Lucretia’s waist, and she will be too loud when she says, “I heard a lot about you guys too!” 

It will be awkward, and there will be a lot of teasing and a lot of blasphemy, and it will all be wonderful anyway because Lucretia gets to feel what it is like when Minerva laughs helplessly against her neck, when she kisses her high on her cheek and looks into her eyes and smiles like this is the happiest she’s ever been.) 

Lucretia has always known she had a destiny. And--maybe part of it was a hundred years on an impossible ship, and maybe part of it was saving the world and all of existence, but she thinks a big part of it is also probably catching up on a hundred years’ lost expressions and laughing with Minerva and being in love. This doesn’t have much to do with being told, though Minerva does make a point of telling her she loves her every day (and letting her say it back). Mostly, it just has to do a lot with the two of them, and a connection that goes beyond anything that could ever be planned for, and what they have chosen to make together.

Lucretia is perfectly happy with that kind of destiny, really.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! if you want to speak to me after this for SOME fuckin reason please feel free to approach the tumblr dais at [anuninterestingperson](http://anuninterestingperson.tumblr.com)


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